


Open Your Eyes

by RafaelaFranzen



Series: Colour and Light [3]
Category: Kingsman (Movies), Vanilla Sky (2001)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canonical Character Death, Dreams and Nightmares, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Canonical Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-10-17 08:40:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17557064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RafaelaFranzen/pseuds/RafaelaFranzen
Summary: After the events of The Golden Circle, Harry and Merlin are living happily ever after. Until nightmares intrude upon their waking dream, and they are confronted with the reality of the world they’re living in. As long as they’re together, does it matter whether it’s real?AKA an answer to “How can two halves of a ship stay together when one is dead?”A Vanilla Sky Merlahad AU(No prior knowledge of the characters or plot of Vanilla Sky required)





	Open Your Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> While it was a nice little diversion, I got tired of people telling me that Peach Sky was a sweet story since it’s so far out of my usual league of angst and grief, so I wrote this as a sequel to compensate. Thanks go to [ThePreciousHeart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePreciousHeart/pseuds/ThePreciousHeart), who encouraged me when I came up with the idea. She gets a heaping share of the credit for editing this fic and the largest slice of blame for conspiring with me.
> 
> Fair warning, it is upsetting, but it does improve towards the end.

Still in a cocoon of sleep Harry mumbles lovingly and shifts, hand outstretched, groping the unoccupied side of the bed. The sheets are cold to the touch, yet still he reaches, sweeping his palm across the linen. His breathing gets heavier as he continues to search in desperation, until his fingers slip over the edge of the bed into empty air past the end of the duvet.

A few seconds pass before his eye adjusts to the yellow glow of the amber streetlight shafting onto the bed from the gap between the curtains. It’s still dark outside. He’s splayed diagonally across the mattress, and the sheets are a wrinkled mess beneath him. An uncapped fountain pen has bled an enormous black blotch on a half-written letter atop a stack of stationery paper messily stacked on the end table. Beside the bed, an almost-empty bottle of scotch lies discarded, leaving a wet stain to set into the well-polished hardwood floor where its remaining contents have dribbled.

He groans, rolling over. His fingers scramble for something, anything to hold, and finally catch on the disused pillow beside him. He pulls it to him, crushes it against himself in a tight embrace and presses his nose against the linen to takes a deep breath. But the only smell he can discern is the scent of freshly laundered sheets.

The wave of emotion that’s been building finally washes over him, and soon the pillowcase is damp with tears.

For the third time that week, Harry’s chest heaves as he weeps under the duvet. It isn’t long before his quiet sobs give way to inconsolable howls.

* * *

“No!” Harry draws a breath in sharply, startling himself awake. Already the lamps are switched on, illuminating the curtained bedspace at the back of the private jet with a soft, comforting glow.

“It’s okay. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere,” says Merlin soothingly, and Harry leans in so their foreheads touch, relief flooding through him. The nightmares have been haunting him for days now. Each awakening has left him stricken with panic, and a frustrating blank slate where a memory of the dream ought to have provided an explanation for the clawing, inexplicable dread that plagued him for hours after. According to Merlin he’d been crying Merlin’s name in his sleep, but bugger if he knew why. It couldn’t be separation anxiety, could it? They were almost joined at the hip these days, on account of the unusual state of peace the world was in. Harry preferred it that way. They could use the break.

“I’m sorry,” he says out of habit, although he isn’t sure what he’s sorry for, exactly.

Merlin hushes him with a finger to his lips and snuggles closer, curling his fingers around Harry’s to pull them toward his ribcage, pressing them to his heart. The rise and fall of Merlin’s chest and the heartbeat against his palm feels reassuring, real. For a long while they simply lie together, until Harry’s labored breathing calms and the restless thumping of his heart has slowed.

“C’mon, let’s get you a cup of tea and you’ll be right as rain,” Merlin says as he sits, offering a hand to Harry to help him up. Harry takes his hand, breaking into a smile at last.   _God, how does the man always know when to do and say the right thing?_ Merlin scoots to the foot of the bed and deftly straps on his carbon fiber legs, while Harry sits back and watches. He’s learnt long ago not to help – there are some tasks Merlin wants to leave for himself, in order to preserve his dignity. This is one of them. Instead, he rubs his good eye and joins Merlin at the foot of the bed, rising with him once he is ready, and drawing the curtains separating their sleeping quarters from the rest of the plane.

To his surprise, a pale woman dressed in a slim-cut black suit is leaning against the counter beside the minibar, leafing through a folder of documents with one hand and stipping from a cup of tea with the other, her red A-line haircut partly shrouding her face. There is an almost ethereal look about her, though he’s convinced it’s a trick of the dawn light streaming in through the tinted windows. Her gaze shoots up from her papers, briefly flitting between Harry and Merlin before she shuts the folder and sets the teacup down on the saucer with a clink, straightening her posture as she angles herself to face them.   

“Ah. Good morning, gentlemen. How are you?”

Seized by an overwhelming sense of déjà vu, Harry swallows, his mouth having suddenly gone dry. He’s seen her before, he’s sure of it. But where?

_Who is she?_

* * *

Something is off about her. Was it the way she arched her brows as she greeted them? How she smiled, perhaps? Merlin can’t quite put his finger on what. Apart from the question of how the _heck_ the brown-bobbed, bespectacled Statesman strategy executive had gotten herself inside their private jet mid-flight in the first place.

“Ginger? What are you doing here?”

“Fascinating.” She tilts her head slightly, as if to study him. “Is that who you see me as?”

The way she observes them lacks the sharp, assertive manner he’s come to expect from Ginger. There’s something unnervingly alien about how calm and compelling she is.

“What do you mean – that’s who you are. You alright?” Merlin questions, with genuine concern.

She smiles apologetically. With a hint of pity even.

“I’m sorry,” she begins, “but Ginger’s been dead for the last fifteen years.”

_Is she taking the piss?_ He surveys her carefully as he makes his way towards her. White blouse, black vest and trousers. Glasses styled the same as his own. How could she be anyone other than Ginger?

“And you’ve been dead for fifty,” she finishes softly, as if delivering her condolences.

It’s impossible to wrap his head around what she’s just said. Merlin’s breath hitches in his throat and he stops in his tracks. Bewildered, he glances to Harry, who is looking at the woman as if she were a ghost.

“Bit late for an April Fool’s joke.” He cocks his head, a dry laugh escaping him. Harry’s expression doesn’t change, and he looks back to the woman, who is proffering a hand.

“Hamish Macallan, I think it’s time we had a proper introduction,” she says. Though she exudes no hint of malice, Merlin can’t help eyeing her with suspicion. Nonetheless, he takes hold and shakes her hand. He is, after all, a gentleman, and it is unbecoming of one to be impolite.

“I’m Rebecca Dearborn, from The Oasis Project, formerly Life Extension – L. E. I’m your assigned tech support. It’s not surprising that you see me as Ginger, considering her programming prowess. We’ve never met, so your mind has filled in the blank somehow.”

Merlin’s expression contorts into one of incredulity, but still he studies her, thirsting for clues. Rebecca releases his hand, looking over his shoulder directly at Harry. It seems to stir something within Harry, but Merlin’s mind is already going a hundred miles a minute and he speaks before he can help himself.

“I know of Life Extension, I’ve read the research your firm published on cryogenic freezing. It’s been quite helpful in developing our own tech for extraction and post-mission cleanup.” Merlin pauses, catching himself before he gets too carried away. “But our Arthur – the head of Kingsman – vetoed any use of your services, preferring our agents to die dignified deaths in the field.”

If Rebecca felt insulted, she didn’t show it. In fact, there is not a single dip in her practiced, compassionate smile.

“In many ways, death itself is undignified. All that grief and discontent, the slow decay of the body. With Life Extension, that suffering is no longer necessary. And for a little extra, we even offer the option of a continued life, to live in the present in an ageless state with a future of your choosing.”

“That’s all very well. But I never chose this,” Merlin exclaims, exasperated.

“I did.” The words tumble out of Harry’s mouth, half admission, half revelation. Merlin’s attention snaps back to him. Harry’s shock mirrors his own.

“What?” Merlin’s says quietly, more skeptical than accusatory.

“Ginger had you cryogenically frozen, so we could get you back to England mostly intact – you’d lost so much blood and flesh already we had to prevent your body from degrading further before the…” Harry’s mouth gapes open in horror, and he’s staring beyond Merlin, at a fixed point in space. He seems to have great difficulty getting the next words out, as if the information that is spilling from him has struck him like lightning.

“Before your funeral.”

Harry’s face twists in anguish. It’s as if he cannot believe the words that have come from his own lips. His pain twists a similar knife in Merlin’s heart, and his arms ache to hold Harry, but he too is stunned into submission.

“And then Ginger sent me the brochure from L.E.” Harry’s speech becomes a stream of consciousness, memories flowing unbidden from his mind to his lips.

“I got in touch with them. Talked it over with Ginger. She conducted feasibility studies and concluded it might be possible tech would be sufficiently advanced to save you within the next ten years, so I …” The words die on Harry’s tongue once again. Rebecca taps Merlin on his shoulder, handing him an opened folder. His L. E. admission record stares back at him.

**`**THE OASIS PROJECT**` **

`LIFE EXTENSION`

-

`NAME OF DECEASED:` `Hamish Macallan`

`SEX:` `Male`

`AGE:` `49`

`MARITAL STATUS: ` `Civil Partnership`

`DATE OF DEATH: ` `15 July 2017`

`PLACE OF DEATH:` `Cambodia`

`CAUSE OF DEATH:` `Exsanguination via traumatic loss of limbs in landmine explosion`

`PLACE OF REMOVAL:` `Wrotham Park, Hertfordshire, UK`

`DATE OF ADMISSION: ` `19 July 2017`

`GUARDIAN:` `Harry Hart`

`RELATIONSHIP TO DECEASED:` `Civil Partner`

`LUCID DREAM:` `Y` `/ N `

“As your next-of-kin, Harry signed a contract for you to be kept in a suspended state on your behalf. He also selected our Lucid Dream option, so your life continued as a realistic work of art painted by you, minute to minute. With no memory of how it all occurred, save for the knowledge that everything simply…improved,” Rebecca explains, with a touch of satisfaction. “From the moment you woke up in the Statesman infirmary almost nothing was real in the traditional sense. Replaced by a better life under these beautiful peach skies. Another seamless chapter spliced on as a living dream.”

The sound of Merlin’s heartbeat pounds, echoing inside his ears, reverberating around his brain. _This can’t be a dream. It’s totally irrational. Harry couldn’t possibly have_ – Even as he turns Rebecca’s explanation over in his mind, the sinking feeling in his gut warns that he’s avoiding the undeniable truth. But to simply accept that the last two years had all happened in his head? Too far of a stretch, even for him. Wordlessly, he sets the folder down on the counter, reaches past Rebecca to retrieve a bottle of single-malt scotch and a whisky glass from the minibar, and sinks into the corner of the padded bench nearest to the foot of the bed. He pours himself a generous shot and downs it. For the first time, it doesn’t have any of the desired effect.

“Many of us live our whole lives with no real adventure to call our own—” Rebecca stops short, holding up a hand to correct herself. “Well, naturally I can’t say the same for the both of you. But it seems you were looking for a different sort of adventure, Hamish. A better life, a life with Harry. You sculpted your Lucid Dream out of the memories you had of him, and what your love could be if you didn’t have to keep the world from falling to pieces.”

He hates it, but has to grudgingly admit that she’s practically read his mind. Of course he’s wished for a happily ever after with his partner. Didn’t everyone? Still, owing to their work at Kingsman, a peaceful life together isn’t a thought he’s indulged except in his wildest dreams...

Merlin’s train of thought comes to a screeching halt. _Even beginning to consider this senseless farce plausible? God forbid._ Instinctively, he reaches for the nearest cup of tea to steel himself with, and the rim is to his lips before he remembers it isn’t his to snatch. By this point, he’s past caring. He desperately needs a lifeline, and tea always makes everything better.

Well, it should have. Except the mouthful of liquid is stone cold and tastes like regret. It takes every ounce of self-control he possesses not to smash the teacup down on the porcelain as he returns it to its saucer.

“What happened in my real life? What did you erase?” Merlin asks, vexation threaded through his words. Apparently, he was dead, and his life with Harry was nothing more than fantasy. His always-dependable single-malt whisky had failed him. And now the tea had gone cold. _Great. Just_ _fucking fantastic. Whatever comes next, it can’t get any worse, can it?_

Rebecca crosses the aisle to take a seat opposite him, folding her hands to rest neatly on her lap. Leaning forwards slightly, she regards him with an equal amount of concern and cautiousness.

“I’m here to help you. But first of all, it’s very important that you calm down.”

Her impeccable bedside manner is aggravating. It’s almost as if _he_ is being the irrational one. Even so, her words are making him aware of how tightly wound up he is, how hard he’s clenching his jaw _._ Getting worked up isn’t doing him any good. Reaching up with his right hand, Merlin slides his glasses up and pinches his nose bridge, letting out a controlled exhale to try and compose himself.

“Do you really want to know?” asks Rebecca.

“Tell me everything.”

“You died shortly after stepping off that landmine. Blood loss from both legs being blown off, coupled with neurotrauma from blast injuries. It was a quick death, every bit as noble as you set out to make it,” Rebecca gives a brief kindly smile, as if to acknowledge his sacrifice. “Harry and Eggsy were successful. They took down Poppy, retrieved the antidote. A slight stumble where Whiskey betrayed them but nothing they couldn’t overcome. They saved the world. Flew your body back to England with the help of Statesman and held a three-day memorial for you. Eulogies took three hours.”

She pauses, her voice wavering. “You were missed,” she adds, a little wistful, as if remembering how moved she was by the service. “And then, after everyone had a chance to say their goodbyes, your body was transferred to our facility, where we sealed you into a vessel at 196 degrees below zero. A kind of hibernation, if you will, with a side of entertainment.”

“Hah!” Merlin scoffs, his brows shooting up, still firmly in denial. “So, if all of this is just a creation, all I have to do is imagine something? If I wanted my legs back, right now…”

He looks down, and feels a start of shock. What were once carbon fiber prosthetics are now whole, smooth unmarked flesh and bone. The carpet is supple and luxurious under his feet. He wriggles his toes experimentally. They feel perfect, surreally so. Merlin turns to Rebecca, slack-jawed, but all she offers is a knowing smile in return.

“Is Harry just part of the dream too?” As soon as Merlin voices the question, he regrets it. He isn’t sure he’s ready to hear the answer.

“Yes and no. How you see him, how he feels physically, all those little mannerisms you’ve noticed over the years – that’s constructed from your memories. But –“

“It was my fault. It was me who never recovered.” Harry interrupts. Merlin jerks to attention from his thoughts, noticing how Harry has crumpled into a slump.

“Harry, what are you talking about?”

Harry doesn’t speak. He’s tearing up, lost in his own grief. Merlin can’t bear the sight. He slides to the edge of his seat to reach over and take Harry’s hands into his own, kneading them gently in attempt to comfort him. He draws on every memory he has of Harry’s smile, trying to will the distressing sight of his beloved in pain away, but nothing changes. Desperate, he turns to Rebecca.

“I thought you said this Lucid Dream was supposed to be my creation. _My choice_.”

“In your case, there is a complication. The choice is not yours alone. It’s also Harry’s.”

“Harry would have never wanted me to see him like this,” Merlin retorts. Then a thought shakes him to the core.

“Harry – what happened to Harry after I died?”

“After Harry turned you over to us, he visited you often. Diving into your dreams the same way I’m with you now,” Rebecca says. “He was there when you awoke in your new life. He helped you to rehabilitate after losing your legs, reasoning that you’d be better adapted after you were revived. But the more he returned from your dream to his waking life, the less he wanted to leave. He longed for you. And then…”

“I remember.” Harry’s voice cracks as he looks to Rebecca. Her eyes shine with sympathy.  

“And then someone else died. It was me.”

* * *

“ _No_.” Merlin’s voice comes out in a low, hoarse cry. Even now, the sound rips into Harry’s heart like a scythe. He remains lost for words as Merlin looks at him imploringly, pleading, “you can’t be gone.”

“He isn’t,” Rebecca says gently. Her tone is matter of fact, but brimming with reassurance. “He’s right here in your Lucid Dream with you. He signed a contract with us too, ten years after he signed yours.”

Harry can feel Merlin’s grip on his hands tighten, knuckle-white. Watching his partner’s expression morph from shock to a mix of heartache and sorrow fills his chest with a suffocating tightness.  

“Harry…”

With that single word, an all-too-familiar pang of pain shoots through him. It is the very pain he sees reflected in Merlin’s eyes. The same pain that seized him ten years ago, when a landmine went off fifteen paces to his right and left a gaping hole in his life too cavernous to fill. Except now, there is no agent Harry has to back up, no mission demanding his emotions be set aside, and tears streak down his face without restraint.

“I was addicted. Even if it was all just in our heads.” As soon as this shameful admission escapes him, the wall holding his memories back crumbles apart, the confession spilling from him like water gushing from a broken dam.

“Seeing you, holding you, being with you in your dreams. All temporary, fleeting moments I clung to, that I couldn’t make last. They were never enough.”

Forgotten emotions leer from the recesses of his mind – anger, guilt, loss, regret – threatening to overwhelm him like a rising tide. A choked gasp escapes his throat. Was he just recalling this agony, or experiencing it then and there? He shuts his eye but for a moment to keep the feelings at bay, but the singular image that holds firm in his mind is Merlin, yearning for answers. Opening his eye only confirms the silent plea lurking in the soft hazel pair that meets his.

“Ten years.” Harry has to stop and inhale shakily. “Ten years I’ve spent dreading every waking moment. Living my life in an illusion I hoped would someday be made real.”

Tight as Merlin’s grip is, it is a blessing he’s been holding on to Harry’s hands. Harry has no doubt his fingernails would be drawing blood from his palms otherwise.

“Then one day, I woke up. I realized no cure had been found to resurrect you, and probably never would be. After that I decided there wasn’t much difference.”

A haunting image leaps back into his mind, of a neat grid of nine sealed envelopes he’d hand-addressed to each Kingsman agent, prepared on his last evening as Arthur. In the centre, the envelope labelled “Galahad” bulges with half a lifetime’s worth of advice he’d never found time to relay. Coward that he was, he’d failed to give Eggsy the courtesy of saying goodbye in the flesh.

Shame cuts through Harry’s tornado of emotions like a hot knife. Even in death it feels far too soon to let another loved one down. In a moment of sudden self-consciousness, he breaks eye contact with Merlin, staring down at their hands. _Haven’t I hurt him enough?_ But he can’t bring himself to stop. Not now. He’s long past the point of no return, and he owes at least the honest truth to the love of his life.  

“A long as we were together, it didn’t seem to matter whether I was dead or alive. I lost you once, outside that church in Kentucky. It would have killed me to lose you again either way.”

A final memory resurfaces,  painfully distinct against the nebulous heady bliss of their waking dream.

_He stares numbly at the words "Harry Hart" signed in black ink by his own hand as they dry on the stiff paper of the Life Extension contract._ _Rebecca's smile seems to offer infinite compassion as she guides him to a quiet room full of sunlight and helps him make himself comfortable on a soft bed. He barely notices the prick of the IV line being inserted into his arm, only focusing on Rebecca's consoling grasp on his shoulder as anesthetic flushes away the cold in his veins and floods his body with warm relief._

Harry shudders at the recollection. _Weak._ That’s what he’s been. Broken and weak. And out of excuses.

“Forgive me, Hamish. I was being selfish. I should have let you rest in peace. I’m sorry.”

Finally, he allows the flood of emotions he's been keeping at bay wash over him and breaks down, squeezing his eye shut, his body quivering with the effort of finally shedding the long-shouldered burden he hadn’t realized he’d been bearing. But before he can lapse into another bevy of sobs, a tender touch brushes away the curls that curtain his forehead, cups his face, and wipes away his tears.

“Look at us,” Merlin’s voice is hushed, but layered with concern and warmth, “We’re both frozen. And dead. And I still love you.”

Merlin’s eyes are wet now too, and the corners of his mouth kink upwards a little, an offering of forgiveness. Harry sniffs, and realizes he can smile, despite his tears. Here is a man he doesn’t deserve, and he can only be grateful beyond belief. This time, his words come easily.

“That’s a problem for both of us, isn’t it?”

Rebecca clears her throat softly and the men turn towards her, having forgotten her presence. “Gentleman, this can all be resolved. It’s time to offer both of you your moment of choice.”  

Harry composes himself, taking Merlin’s hands, wet with his tears, in his own. Rebecca stands, the aurora of daybreak casting a halo about her auburn hair as she beams, poised and enigmatic.

“We’re now on pause. Neither of you will remember any of this, nor be charged for technical support. There will be no more nightmares. The glitch has been corrected. You can return to your Lucid Dream, live a beautiful life together…or you can choose the world out there.”

She sweeps her arm wide, gesturing to the clouds beyond the windows outside their soaring, pressurized bubble.

* * *

“You can bring us back.” Merlin says. It’s a statement, not a question. He’s run out of capacity to be surprised.

“Yes. Your legs and body can now be fixed. Harry’s eye too. Not perfectly of course, but neural-cybernetic interfacing has advanced considerably in the last fifty years. We pioneered that tech to be able to connect two Lucid Dreamers together, but it has plenty of other applications.” Rebecca reels off her speech with the practice of a lifetime in sales, composed but full of pride.

“Of course, the world’s still a little worse for wear on account of people fundamentally being people. But things are different now. Roxy’s been conferred a damehood. Eggsy has three grandchildren. One of his daughters is a Kingsman agent.”

“Eggsy’s still alive?” gasps Harry.

“I hear the Swedish Royal Family’s connections keeps him in good health despite his age,” answers Rebecca.

The information doesn’t faze Merlin in the slightest. What he finds more important is getting to the point. “How do we wake up?”

Rebecca strides towards the exit, grabs the lever with both hands and twists it around, throwing the plane door open. Immediately, the rapid decompression seizes papers, blankets and pillows, sending them flying across the cabin and out the gaping breach. Utterly unperturbed by the chaos around her, all Rebecca does is calmly take a step back, clothes unruffled, not a single hair out of place.

“The dropzone’s coming up. The decision is yours.” She nods sagely toward the opening, the volume of her speech unimpaired by the roar of the engines and surge of wind gusting through the plane.

Merlin inches carefully towards the cabin door, and looks out at the sky, a brilliant deep blue at high altitude, fringed with the orange and pink of the breaking dawn. He ought to be be terrified – _there’s no way we should be alive at this altitude in an unpressurized plane_ – but the expected fear is strangely absent. Harry hangs back, peering over his shoulder into the yawning chasm back to reality. Merlin turns around, and though the rushing air is barely tousling the edges of his clothes, he braces himself against the frame of the door, just in case.

“You chose this scenario, didn’t you,” sighed Merlin. _What is this, poetic justice for all the times I’ve put candidates through this test?_

Harry looked apologetic. “Well it’s been a while. I’ve sort of forgotten how bloody shit-inducing this is.”

“I don’t suppose you thought to include parachutes?”

“You know I’ve always been one for spontaneity.”

Merlin can’t help but smile at Harry’s mask of confidence, even with the hair-raising choice awaiting them. There is no doubt that the man’s bitten off more than the both of them can chew, but it’s endearing how committed he is to seeing it through. This is one of the reasons he fell in love with Harry in the first place.

“Well then.” Merlin steals another glance behind him at the drop – _probably something like forty thousand feet_ – and promptly curses his experience with aviation. He turns back to Harry, trying to blot the terrifying figure out of his mind. “Which choice would you make?”

Harry takes a step towards Merlin, and he stiffens, propping his hands more securely against the door frame, lest the man do anything drastic. Instead, he finds himself enveloped in a hug.

“I chose to love you,” whispers Harry, “and I’ve never regretted it.”

Gently, Merlin responds to Harry’s embrace, leaning into the hug and dipping his chin against Harry’s shoulder. He doesn’t dare to slacken the hold keeping them both in the plane. Instead of letting go, Harry tightens his grip as the wind buffets violently around them. Merlin glances to Rebecca, who still looks the splitting image of Ginger, and she smiles, giving him a nod of acknowledgement.

He nods back. He’s made his decision. Closing his eyes, he releases the doorframe, and leans back, allowing the jet stream to suck them from the plane.

Immediately, the turbulence rolling off the leading edge of the wing engulfs them, sending them tumbling through the air. Out of control, Merlin flails wildly, the thin fabric of his pajamas flapping about him, as Harry is dragged away by the air current. His training finally kicks in and he instinctively spreads out his arms and legs. At first, his limbs churn wildly, as if trying to arrest a vertical run down the side of a building before he steadies himself enough to stabilize his fall.

Far below him, he watches in horror as Harry hurtles through the sky head first. But even as Harry falls, his one good eye is meeting Merlin’s gaze, and he offers up an outstretched hand as he plunges through purple clouds, sleeves streaming up with the air resistance. Merlin snaps his hands and feet together, lunging downwards like an Olympic diver, body straight as a pike. They’re plummeting so quickly they could almost be floating, suspended in mid-air.

A torrent of memories assault Merlin.

**_The coppery tang of Harry’s blood staining his lips after their first kiss._ **

**_“I decide when someone’s beyond saving, Galahad. Don’t you dare die on me.”_ **

Inch by inch he closes the space between them.

**_Ragged breaths come through the audio feed as the stream pans across a church full of corpses._ **

**_“I made this bed, Hamish. So now, I must lie in it.”_ **

He extends an arm to reach downward, desperate to touch.

**_The look of relief from the man in sweats that wasn’t his Harry, enthusiastically shaking his hand._ **

**_“You’re a good man, Merlin. If I discover a new species of butterfly, I’ll name it after you.”_ **

Their fingertips brush.

**_Tears careen down the face of his beloved over a blubbered confession._ **

**_“I lost you once, outside that church in Kentucky. It would have killed me to lose you again.”_ **

He grabs hold of Harry’s hand.

Harry brings his other arm up to clasp Merlin’s wrist, and pulls -

Merlin gasps, buoyed by an unbearable lightness that spreads down his arm and through his being.  

He’s not falling down to Earth.

He is _rising._

Up and away from the peach sky, ascending toward the solid ground above.

The familiar “K” symbol on the green of the Kingsman grounds grows larger as they soar up to the estate. Merlin draws Harry close with all his strength and finally, they wrap their arms around each other. He can feel every digit of Harry’s pressing fiercely through the cotton of his nightshirt, the chin locked in tight against the crook of his shoulder, and it makes him draw in his arms to crush their bodies more tightly against each other. His heart is beating out of his chest, the rapid thumping filling his ears as he squeezes his eyes tightly shut and braces for impact.

* * *

Everything is a bright, searing white. It stings. Merlin forces his eyes shut and takes a deep breath, filling his lungs with crisp, fresh air. He almost chokes on it. The sensation feels oddly foreign. As a matter of fact, every sensation is overwhelming. He can feel every thread of the blanket draped across his waist and over his stumps, the taste of his tongue in his mouth, the clean, filtered medical smell that permeated the air…

“Relax… Hamish. Relax.”

Weak as it sounded, he’d know that voice anywhere.

“Open your eyes.”

He does so. It’s blinding at first, but slowly he manages to make out faces leaning over the left edge of his bed. Closest to him stands Eggsy, with his hands slung in his jean pockets, sporting a full head of silver hair. Despite his deeply lined face, his grin is unmistakable. Behind him, with her grey hair drawn up into a neat ponytail is Roxy, signature Kingsman tortoiseshell glasses perched on her nose. Though she’s swaddled in an oversized turtleneck, she still manages to be a picture of concerned dignity.

In the far right corner of his vision, someone moves to exit the room. Pausing briefly by the door, the black-suited, red-haired figure flashes him a familiar benevolent smile before she disappears. Before he has time to question it, however, he feels a freezing hand squeezing his. Looking down, his vision follows the arm that extends from his grasp to the adjoining bed on his right.

He barely recognizes Harry. Though the man is younger than either Eggsy or Roxy, his tousled brown hair is overgrown and unkempt, his skin sallow and fragile. Harry opens his mouth, as if to speak, but is overcome by a fit of coughing. He looks like he’s aged twenty years, not ten.

“Ugh. Fresh air, nothing like it.” The words bring a familiar flood of warmth through Merlin. He manages a weak chuckle, bringing his free hand around so he can warm Harry’s hand between both of his.

“Welcome back, love.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you’ve been hurt by this, sorry, it was intentional. It hurt me to write this too. I hope you still enjoyed it though. I would love to hear your reactions, so let me know what you thought!
> 
> Trivia/Credits: 
> 
> **I)** The four flashbacks/quotes Merlin recalls falling through the sky are each from different pieces of writing:  
> 1\. The first fic in this series, _Like It Was_  
>  2\. A ficlet by [MHMoony](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MHMoony/pseuds/MHMoony) who graciously gave me permission for it to be used here  
> 3\. The official _Kingsman: The Golden Circle_ novelization  
> 4\. This fic
> 
> **II)** I randomly chose Merlin’s surname, Macallan as a placeholder, which I figured I’d go back to later to research and make sure it had suitable associations. To my utter surprise, the top hit on google for the name points to a single malt whisky distillery established in 1824 and I was sold on it immediately.
> 
> Then I clicked through to the website and their main advertising campaign is taglined “Would you risk falling for a chance to fly?” and involves, I shit you not, a man jumping from a cliff, falling through clouds, then sprouting wings and soaring before he hits the ground. I don’t think my fangirl tendencies have been this validated by the universe in my life.
> 
> **III)** Rebecca Dearborn is a character from _Vanilla Sky_ who has a criminally short screentime. I expanded her role here by combining it with Edmund Ventura’s character, as well as bolstered her character’s personality with hints of Tilda Swinton’s other performances as The Ancient One in _Doctor Strange_ and the angel Gabriel in _Constantine_. Both have similarly composed/enigmatic modes of speech in the face of tense standoffs.
> 
> **IV)** This fic borrows heavily from the structure of the last 30 minutes of _Vanilla Sky _. If the premise intrigued you I would highly recommend watching it! It had one of the most groundbreaking premises for a sci-fi film I’ve personally seen for it’s time.__


End file.
